Hear the Raven's Cry
by ladydove7
Summary: Vampire the Masquerade, the story of a Caitiff. Zane was a partier, a drug addict, and a wild teen. Now newly wed and trying to patch his life together, one night of violence changes him forever.


Hear the Raven's Cry  
  
"You know.it's all just one big fucking nightmare." Robert astutely mentioned as he took another long drag of his smoke.  
  
"What is?" Zane tossed a cd across the dingy, unorganized room as 'Big Empty' by Stone Temple Pilots blared in the background.  
  
..falling farther from just what we are.  
  
"Life, man." Robert continued with his daily harangue about the depravity of society and the human condition. The pungent smell of old pizza and unwashed clothes wafted about the cramped room.  
  
.smoke a cigarette and lie some more.  
  
"I think you just need to lay off the ganja, man." Zane continued as he absently stroked the new tattoo under his right eye. It was a black, curving mark that followed the line of his eye, almost like the Eye of Horus Egyptian hieroglyph. One mark flowing down, the other leading off from the end of his eye. It itched like mad.  
  
.time to wait too long to wait too long.  
  
"HAH!," Robert puffed out a ring of smoke, "Don't give me that innocent shit. You do that more than I do at those parties of yours. You're just a lucky sonafabitch. You got a wife and an apartment. Still can't believe your sorry ass got married."  
  
Zane leaned back in the clothes-covered chair and put his arms behind his head, "I just got lucky. Even someone as dead-beat and dumb as you can find someone to love them. Just gotta give it time. And it's not drugs, it's Ecstasy." His grungy black hair fell across his arms and shadowed his face, hiding his natural paleness. "Love, now there's the ultimate drug." A dreamer's smile stretched across Zane's round-jawed face. He stroked the tattoo again. Michelle had a matching one under her left eye. They had gotten them together. He watched her smiling face in his thoughts for a few moments before getting up. "Well, I got a rave to go to. If Michelle calls, tell her I'll be home soon. Found a club that's hot shit!"  
  
"Now whose the deadbeat? You know Shell doesn't like you goin to those raves." Robert flicked the cigarette, flinging ashes on the carpet already burned with flecks of soot.  
  
"She'll understand. This is my going away party for raves. Just this last time and I say farewell to the night life forever." Zane waved goodbye to his best friend and slammed the door behind him.  
  
.too much trippin' and my soul's worn thin time to catch a ride.  
  
* * *  
  
The music pounded in rhythmic waves across the darkened dance floor. A haze of smoke and strobing light lit up the room, transforming it from a dirty, plain painted black space into a world of Gomorra, full of flailing bodies and wandering minds. The smell of sweat and BO went unnoticed by everyone as the waves stopped and the DJ went on about something nobody was paying attention too. Zane took the pause in the surge as an opportunity to go get a drink from the bar. He let his body take a breath, this was the surge he loved so much about raves. The excitement, the adrenaline, it was addictive, moreso than any earthly aphrodisiac. Cold sweat ran down his face as he looked down into his glass and watched the ice swim around in its pool. His long coal dark hair fell around his hung head till a voice made him sweep it aside.  
  
"Zane! Aww..shyit man! I knew I'd see you here!" It was Lenny. His real name was Rutherford, but he adored Lenny Kravitz that much. The lanky teenager complete with holey jeans and a beat up leather jacket jammed his hand forward into Zane's face. "You have got try some of these rolls man! P.L.U.R. guaranteed!!"  
  
Zane eyed the pills. He could already see Michelle's fuming face. The little pills shined glossy red in Lenny's palm. This was his farewell bash to raves. Forever. What was one more trip? This would be his last one. He took the pills from him, threw back his head, the pills, and the last of the water. "Ecstasy, what a way to say farewell."  
  
"HAGHAHA!", Lenny's slurred laughter sounded in Zane's ear, "That's me boy! Better than sex!" He said as he patted Zane on the back and wandered off into the mass of people, the music starting up again. It was about an hour before it finally kicked in. The music ceased to be music. The lights ceased to be lights. The music was a part of his body as he floated around the room and his body ceased to feel itself, and was free of his mind. And the lights? They were burned into his vision like the faces of god! It was clarity within inclarity.  
  
He thought he heard "Living Dead Girl" by Rob Zombie playing as one face became crystal clear in his vision. It was a beautiful face, porcelain in the face of god. He was drawn towards her face, which was set forth by the dark shadows of her hair. What are you thinking about? The same thing as you are.  
  
She cast him a smile, her lips painted .doll-like.with deep purple lipstick.  
  
..With one flat foot on the devil's wing. Dance for me, living dead girl.  
  
He managed a hello before she grabbed his arm and led him into another room. Zane looked around like a lost puppy, not quite sure why she had grabbed him and pulled him off. The beat of the music was a distant throbbing in the walls of the even darker room. The loud sound of the door shutting behind him almost cracked his eardrums. He didn't feel so good, his bowels felt like they were twisting and the logical part of his mind wondered if Lenny had given him some bad pills. He saw a chair and sat down in it immediately, not noticing the other figures in the room. His vision blurred slightly and he shook his head to clear it. The doll grabbed his face and forced him to look into her eyes. They were completely black, so he thought, her hair oozing like ebony silk framing her face. He was entranced with them. They caught his gaze and held it, and he felt like a sheep in the hands of its slaughterer. What was worse is that he couldn't move. He just sat and stared dumbfounded as the shadowy woman leaned forward and kissed him on the neck. He couldn't tell whether it was drugs or not, but it felt good, like the exhilaration of a thousand tiny hands caressing the inside of his veins. A shocked gasp escaped his lips as the doll put a hand on his chest and leaned back with him onto the coach.  
  
Zane's eyes widened as she dug her fingers into his chest. He gagged as she pulled her purple lips from his neck and smiled into his face. Red blood was smeared all around her smiling lips. Her black eyes filled with joy as she dug her claws deeper into him. Zane raised an arm to try and punch the loathsome woman away, but she whipped out her arm and pinned him down with strength unfamiliar to her form. The woman sat atop his chest like a succubus, smiling at her latest victim. The woman raked her other hand across his torso, scraping his ribs with her bloody fingertips. Zane didn't hear himself cursing in pain. The words slipped out along with his blood, the loss of it making him even more delirious. The music banged louder than before in his head, muffling out his cries and yells. The she- demon ripped away the tattered remains of his black shirt and jacket, revealing his white torso to the haze of black lighting that lit the room. It made his body glow dully, except for the black sun tattoo etched around his belly button, and his blood that flowed from the lacerations in his chest. The sight of it made him queasy.  
  
This is all some nightmare. I am going to wake up from this now. This is just a bad trip.  
  
The woman grasped his throat with one cruel hand and picked him up in the air, his feet dangling, Zane now the one who was doll-like. She cackled at him, rolling her head lackadaisically, then threw him with one swift powerful motion across the room. His body slid to a halt in the middle of the floor. Zane instinctively curled up in a ball, cradling his arms against his heaving chest. Only then did he notice the other shady figures in the room. The pain seemed to clear his mind, mixing with the Ecstasy to focus in the details of his physical agony. "Mercadia, you are one cruel Lasombra bitch. Shouldn't play with your food like that." One of the figures stood right over him, laughing insanely. The woman walked up beside the standing figure and leaned against him, her porcelain face still the only one that he could vaguely recognize.  
  
"One should learn to play with their food and have a little fun every once in a while." She laughed again, her laughter a drunken tinkle in his ears.  
  
"I think you're getting a little tipsy. Their blood's full of Ecstasy, what a rush! WOOO!" Another gruff male voice rang out from Zane's other side. "What we do now? I don't want to end the fun yet." The others shrugged and Zane saw the shining wink of a knife, it was the only thing he could see. His mind focused in on the gleaming edge as it lowered towards him and he closed his eyes. He was flung like a ragdoll onto his back, both arms held down again and spread like a crucifiction.  
  
He heard one of them say something, "You ever seen the ending to Braveheart?"  
  
The knife plunged down into his abdomen, his own ears filled with an endless, blood-curdling scream he didn't know was his own. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't act. He struggled with the strength of a dying man, but the restrainers held him down firmly as the knife was slowly dragged across his belly. Blood spilled from his lips as he coughed up the bitter fluid that began to fill his lungs and stomach. The woman covered his bloody lips with a kiss. The last thing he could bear the sight of was her devilish smile that mocked him with its beguiling sweetness.  
  
"Shhhhh." She covered his mouth with her hand as the others ripped at his intestines, making a feast for themselves. Burning tears of pain scorched down his face from closed eyes.  
  
"I say, this one lasted a bit longer than Wallace...HAHAAH" The gruff one laughed and laughed.  
  
Zane thought he was in hell already, and these were the demons sent to torture him. It was something out of Dante. Some twisted agony only he could think up in his darkest hours. He finally passed out, the horrible wrenching the last thing he could feel. Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed as he drifted in and out of the black light. The moments were like stained glass, shattered images of the woman slitting her own wrist and the other cackling, maniacal demons joining her in their horrid entertainment. The bitter, salty taste of blood in his mouth. The shattering porcelain face of a beautiful, smiling doll lying on black silk the last image that fluttered through his fading consciousness  
  
* * *  
  
His eyes caught the shadow of a bird flying across the graffitied brick wall. The music was gone. Deepening shadows ate at the edges of his vision. Zane was flat on his back, lying in a pile of paper and refuse in a narrow alley beside the club. God how his head ached. He leaned forward, supporting his head with both hands. The light was too bright, the ache in his head and stomach too much for him to even try and stand up. Last night was an insidious blur of music, Lenny giving him red pills, then.something he could not quite wrap his mind around. He pinched his eyes tighter at the unclear memories and shook his head, dismissing it as a bad trip. The bouncers must have found him passed out from the bad shit that Lenny gave him and thrown him out in the alley. When he finally could bear the light, he opened his eyes and looked down. He gasped in horror at the sight of himself. The shredded remains of his shirt hung down over his black jeans, which were soaked with coagulated blood. Confused, he stood up, rubbing a hand across his belly. A flash of intestines, a pulling feeling, and someone softly whispering Shhh, made him fall weakly against the wall of the cluttered alley.  
  
God how his head ached!! His whole body was wracked with some kind of empty aching. His mind took it as physical pain, leftovers from a bad trip. He covered his belly protectively as he made his way out of the alley, one hand on the wall for support. There was nothing wrong with his stomach. He just had the instinctive urge to cover it, without knowing why. Zane stumbled out into the street, almost losing his footing. People walked by without even noticing. It was a regular thing in this part of town. Another junkie getting wasted, big surprise. By the look of the sky he had been out of it for an entire day. The clouds were already purple with twilight. Shelly is going to be pissed! Zane pulled himself forward and made his way towards Robert's. His place was in walking distance.  
  
Robert threw the phone across the room. It landed in a pile of clothes, unharmed. Shelly had called four times now. Where the hell was Zane?? He was wondering himself. Wherever he was, he knew he sure was going to get it when he got home. And that was precisely why he was not going to get married. Zane was a wanderer, just like he was. They were too free to settle down. But he couldn't blame Zane for trying. Shelly was a nice girl, not too bad on the eyes either. Robert heaved a sigh. Zane had never been gone this long without calling one of them before. He plopped down into a chair and flicked on the 8 inch TV, trying to get his mind off worrying. Zane would check in. He always does.  
  
Each step was like walking on needles. He felt like throwing up, but nothing would come out. He felt feverish, but his body was ice cold. Zane groped along the sidewalk, dragging his feet, every step the feeling inside became more powerful. It was like wanting to scream, but the scream turned inwards to twist and tear at him. He covered his mouth with a trembling hand to keep himself from puking, though nothing seemed to come out despite the feeling. Only one more block. Another footstep and another. He was thirsty, oh god, how he was thirsty! The cold sweat made his lengthy hair stick to his back and forehead like it was a summer day. Ohh, if he ever saw Lenny again, the bastard was dead! Finally, 1208 Aberdale Terrace stretched out before him and he dreaded every stair that led up to the sixth floor where Robert's apartment was.  
  
Robert laughed absently at Saturday Night Live until someone pounded on the door. He threw the remote down and walked hurriedly to see who it was. Better not be Zane hiding out from Shell. He is my best friend, but no one can save him from her wrath. He peered through the eye-hole on the cheap wooden door, not surprised to see that it was Zane, but something was wrong with him. He was leaning heavily against the door, his hair stuck to his sweating form. He was bare-chested and ghostly pale. Robert quickly unlocked the padlock and the doorlock and unhooked the chain, stepping outside to help Zane in. He took one of his arms to keep him from falling.  
  
"Jesus man, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit!" Robert yelled at him, his voice sharp with concern. Zane said nothing in response and that made him worry more. He'd never seen him this bad off before. Sure they'd had their bad experiences, but this was beyond anything he had ever seen before. He looked like he was about to friggin keel over. Robert quickly led him towards the coach, letting go of Zane's arm so he could lie down. As his hand slid across his bare back, he felt something.  
  
"Jesus!" Robert cursed in horror as he stared down at Zane, who curled up on the couch like a wounded animal. "Jesus!!!" Robert repeated again, "Just..just stay right here man and I'll get some bandages. Zane's back was horribly mutilated. There were deep scratches in it, like some kind of big cat had attacked him. Surprisingly, there was absolutely no blood, just gaping wounds. Robert fumbled about in a panic trying to find the first aide kit he had tucked away in the kitchen. He found it after clearing out the entire cabinet of snack food. It was in perfect condition, never opened once. He ran back to the den grabbing the cordless phone on his way. Kneeling beside Zane, he hastily laid the med kit down and looked to his friend. "Are you okay, man? Do you want me to call a doctor?! H.How bout I call Michelle?"  
  
Zane covered his face with his hands, pressing them into his eyes as if trying to release something. "No." he struggled with the words, "No doctor. Don't call Michelle, she'll worry too much. Just get me the med kit and.s..some water. And some pain killer, uaagh. Dammit!" He groaned and turned away from Robert, burying his face in the coach, closing his eyes to make the pain and queasiness go away. Robert could tell he was going into some kind of shock. Zane's hands and arms convulsed with fast shivers as if he were freezing. Frantically, Robert put down the phone and turned towards the kit. The wrapper clung stubbornly to it.  
  
"Mother fucking packages!!!" Robert's voice cracked with the stress and he gave up and pulled out a knife to cut the plastic off. He twirled it about in his hands, slicing the sides with his pocketknife. He's having some kinda Ecstasy overdose!! I always warned him about that shit!! What the hell are those scratches??? With the last side, the knife slipped and sliced the tip of his finger open, the tiny wound bleeding painfully. "Ouww!! Goddammit!!" Robert cursed again and continued to unravel the first aide kit, ignoring his own wound to find something that would help his best friend.  
  
Zane opened his eyes. He smelled it. He smelled it and the aroma made his body stop trembling. It was like some perfume seducing and soothing his senses. He didn't know what it was, but he wanted it, he needed it, he craved it. He was thirsty and only whatever was the source could sate that.yearning. For a moment, his eyes took in the brown canvas of the coach, then he slowly turned his body around to look at Robert, but the sight his mind caught was not Robert, it was the bleeding thumb that smeared inky red over the shining plastic packaging. He stared at Robert's cut thumb struggling with the first aide package, slack jawed as if it were something more than just a thumb. The aching inside of him turned into a burning, slipping and sliding inside of him, licking his mind with the strong feeling to go forward and taste .. Zane's amber eyes narrowed, focusing even more closely. He reached a hand out and grabbed Robert's wrist. Startled by Zane's sudden movement, Robert dropped the package and cursed.  
  
"Damn, man! What's wrong? You okay?? Not having some kind of attack are you???" Robert tore his arm free and put his hands on Zane's shoulders, grasping them tightly in his panic. His best friend was going to keel over right here!! Zane kept his eyes closed, but still he smelled it and it beckoned him like a siren. He tore away from Robert, hitting his arms away with a violent shrug of his shoulders and elbows. Zane stumbled to his feet gasping heavily.  
  
"S..Stay away!!" Zane backed up, almost falling over the coach. Robert got up from his knees, staring in shocked silence at him.  
  
"What's wrong with you???" Robert peered questioningly at him, his mind drawing a blank. Zane was paler than ever before. He was almost chalk white. He thought he saw the glint of something in his mouth, was it a point?? The look on Zane's face was like a cornered wild animal's. His cheeks were taught with anxiety, and his normally amber eyes seemed to burn brighter than usual. Robert watched wordlessly as Zane pitched over the coffee table and ran out of the apartment and into the hallway. Confused, he followed him all the way out to the stairwell, but he was already gone.  
  
* * *  
  
What the hell is wrong with me?? Zane groaned in frustration as he ran clumsily out into the darkened street. He bumped into a couple people as they walked down the sidewalk. He could smell it in them, around them, pulsing in their veins! He could see it!! He screamed and dug his knuckles into his temples, frustrated and scared beyond belief. Zane stumbled into an alleyway in an attempt to free himself of the horrible yearning. There, he fell to his knees and stared at his own white hands. He lifted them to his eyes, looking at them intently. They weren't his hands anymore. Something was wrong with him. He wasn't the same anymore. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?? The thought bounced around in his head again and again.  
  
He looked to his right and saw a bum sleeping in the garbage, a bottle of Jack Daniel's resting on his slowly rising and falling chest. Rising and falling. Zane watched him, hypnotized by the old bum's peaceful face, and his chest..rising and falling. Suddenly he realized something, his own chest didn't rise or fall. He wasn't breathing, just reacting. It was as if he was holding in his breath underwater, yet he could do it forever. For some reason, the thought fell away as he lifted himself from his knees and stood over the bum, peering at his bristly face. He kneeled down in front of him, almost as if he was praying. That...smell. The warmth pumped through his veins, loud enough for him to hear the thump thump of his heart. It was so loud it filled his ears and beat inside his mind. He leaned ever closer, his yellow eyes imploring. Zane thought the bum's eyes would open, but thankfully they did not. Finally, in that instant he lost all sense of himself, the yearning fire inside consumed him.  
  
Reality clapped back with a flash of white. The tips of his snowy fingers were shining with blood. Zane was propped against the wall opposite the bum, his back leaning against the rough brick. He didn't look up at the bum, though if he had, he would have found the poor man's throat torn and left gaping to the autumn night air. Instead, he stared at his fingers. He couldn't resist the sudden urge to lick them like a little child.  
  
"Hmm....interesting." A voice, firm yet playful sounded out of nowhere. Zane snapped his neck lizard-like towards the origin of the voice, blazing eyes flitting about for whoever had spoken. The instinctive breath he let out crystallized in the suddenly freezing cold air. About four feet away a man stood in the middle of the alleyway. He cocked his head about, surveying the scene like a referee. His clothing was something out of Casablanca. It was old style, an ornately decorated long coat with a plaited collar wrapped around the neck. His dark auburn hair was tied back in an old world ponytail. He was curiously of Italian decent, his features emanating a Mediterranean flavor.  
  
"Young man, I do believe you've made a mess." The stranger walked up to the body of the bum. "Tsk! Such manners!" He noticed that the bum was still alive and raised a hand to the man's neck. He squeezed till the spinal vertebrae popped and he was dead. With that done, he lifted the body up like it was nothing and tossed it into the dumpster. "Now...where were we?" Zane stared at him dumbfounded. He searched for every excuse to explain why he had blood on his hands, but his mind kept drawing a blank. Things were happening too fast. Zane slowly shook his head from side to side.  
  
"Ah, yes. Introductions!" The man shrugged his shoulders and strolled from the dumpster over to where Zane was still sitting on the ground, back against the wall. "I am Bartholomi la Furia, but my eh...hehe...friends...call me The Furie." The stranger gave him a courtly bow. Zane stared at him, almost ready to smile. The realization had just set in. I just killed a man. He was ready to laugh, but all he could think to do was close his eyes. The man remained standing over him a second longer. "Stand up." He heard him say. Not knowing what else do, Zane pushed his hands against the wall and forced himself to stand up, opening his eyes again to look in the stranger's face.  
  
Bartholomi smiled deviously. This one was as new as a screaming babe. He could see the confusion in Zane's eyes. It was always good to catch them young. "Your name?"  
  
Zane smiled back, disbelieving he was there, still believing it was some bad dream he would soon wake up from. His trembling blue lips spoke his name "Zane." There was something odd about the stranger's face. He was staring straight into it, and yet it...the shadows fell upon it unnaturally.  
  
"Welcome to the night life, Zane." The Furie continued to smile at him. Something about that smile made him uncomfortable. Suddenly the stranger vanished into thin air. He seemed to melt away in the shadows within the blink of an eye. Zane stared on in disbelief. Maybe it was a dream and he was about to wake up? God he hoped so. He stared about the alley, his thoughts the only thing he could hear. That same air of chill had not left him, though the alleyway was completely empty. He looked forward again and there were a pair of dark eyes right in front of his own. He was lifted into the air by the neck. The Furie smiled at him like the Cheshire cat.  
  
"You have a lot to learn."  
  
The boy grasped at his hands, child-like in his attempts to free himself from his iron grip. The Furie sneered in satisfaction. Zane's eyes rolled back as he gagged and threw his head backwards as far as it could go within his handhold. HAHA..how entertaining! He still thinks he needs to breathe. Bartholomi almost laughed aloud at that, till the boy started to yell something.  
  
"A.needle!!!" Zane's choked cries echoed throughout the alley, "A needle of.. sunlight!" He screamed again as he took his hands off of The Furie and grabbed at his own shoulder, trying to soothe a wound that wasn't there. "Let me OOUT!!!!!" He flailed like a madman. "LET ME OUT!!!" He howled again. Bartholomi's face froze in all seriousness as Zane struggled for a moment longer then went limp, his strained eyes finally closing. Bartholomi let his body slip to the ground. Some things in this world could still surprise him. He stood looking down on Zane's body for a few introspective minutes. The Needle of Sunlight. He put his hand on his left shoulder and turned his head to the side, intrigued. Maybe this one would be more useful alive. Pity, his Warren needed more 'decorations'. His friends would be disappointed.  
  
* * *  
  
When Zane first woke up, he thought he opened his eyes to see Michelle lying asleep next to him and the black drapes of their room, but when he blinked, that illusion was gone. He was in someplace dark, faintly lit with auxiliary lamps. The bad dream continued. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, a dull throbbing still apparent from whatever had happened in the alley. One moment the stranger was strangling him and the next he was afflicted with some sort of vision. A dream within a dream. He wasn't beyond wishing that he would wake up and everything would be normal. The next thing that made his head throb was the smell of the room he was in. It was a mix of feces and rotting meat. The odor filled his senses and made him retch dryly.  
  
"Why you slept like the dead!" That same mocking voice poured over him as it echoed off the walls. He gazed towards a flickering light and found the stranger sitting down at a table crowned with a candle. The rustic man sat reading an old dust covered book. "You've just experienced your first torpor, mi'lad." He shut the book and stood up, the candlelight distorting his smiling face. "You've been out for seven nights. Bravo!"  
  
Zane covered his mouth and nose with his hand in an effort to block out the smell of decay that pervaded the air. "T..torpor?"  
  
"Think of it is as the big sleep, the enforced nap, the long kiss goodnight. It occurs whenever you are traumatized, when you've lost enough blood, or someone's laid a big hurt on you." Bartholomi stood up from the well-used chair and walked over to Zane, offering him a chalice of dark fluid. "Here kid, pretend its Koolaid." Zane stared at the cup. He could smell the precious liquid within above the viscous odors of the dark room. He impulsively grabbed it and drank it down with two full gulps, uncaring of what it was, only sure that he needed it. He sighed with satisfaction after it was empty. He put the cup down on the dirty floor and leaned back against the grimy wall, trying to rest his mind and body, even though he did not feel tired. In fact, he felt better than he ever had in his life.  
  
"W.What did you do to me??" Zane stared sharply at Bartholomi. This was too much. Some sick fuck of a bum had kidnapped him and carried him down into the sewers.  
  
"Moi? Why I didn't do a thing! It was all you, mi'lad. All you." Bartholomi waved his hand in the air hurt by the accusation, "I was only going to introduce you to some friends of mine. But that can wait. Tell me something my dear boy. How did you know about my little.. 'war injury'." He crossed his arms and stared down at Zane.  
  
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Zane got to his feet and stood face to face with the bum. The bum smiled back, that same overconfident, decrepit sneer. Zane backed off a step. Silence took him for a moment. "It was you..?"  
  
"Hmm.." Bartholomi lifted a contemplative hand to his chin.  
  
"You were burned. By that..that needle of sunlight." Zane was struck silent. After a few moments he balled his fists and yelled at the bum, "This is all some bad dream!! Where the hell am I? And how do I get out of this shit hole!" His confusion was turning into a frustrated anger. He paced the chamber, looking for a way out. For some reason, he could see the seams of the bricks in the wall without feeling for them. Everything seemed as bright as day despite the darkness he knew was there. Finding none, he turned to face the odd man. He had the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was utterly trapped. There was no way out. He studied the bum for any malicious intent. Was he going to kill him??  
  
Bartholomi raised his arms into the air and smiled, showing perfect teeth. "Welcome to Tartaras, my hell and sanctuary." He put a hand onto the wall and slipped through an opening. Zane rushed forward to get through, but the wall closed up right after the bum had escaped.  
  
"Expect an extended stay!" The Furie's voice echoed loudly throughout the chamber. Zane frantically looked around for any way out. He pounded the wall incessantly. There had to be a way out!! He yelled and screamed, but no one answered.  
  
Bartholomi lit a candle and peered over at the intricately arranged pile of skulls that the light illuminated. All of them grinned at him happily. He returned the grin and listened to the sweet sound of Zane pounding on the inner wall of his Chamber of Horrors. He leaned back in his favorite chair and toasted to his Sire before taking a sip of the 'red wine'.  
  
Ah, Sophia, you would be proud! I've always wanted children of my own. He smiled contented and continued to listen to the pounding.  
  
About two hours later, the pounding and screaming had finally stopped. "Hmm.took longer than I expected." Bartholomi clicked his pocketwatch closed and stuffed it into his overcoat. He slipped back into his inner sanctum where his guest was staying. When he entered, he found the boy kneeling on the floor in the center of the room, his knuckles bruised and bloody. He cheered him with a clap of his hands.  
  
"A valiant effort!!! Alas, the wall always wins, trust me."  
  
Zane peered at him, his eyes slitted with anger. "What do you want with me? I don't have any money. What the hell do you want with me??!"  
  
Bartholomi tilted his head, offended by the tone of voice he used, "Why, do you not realize your own potential? Don't you realize how you have changed?"  
  
Zane watched his every movement with contempt. "Y..you..what are you talking about?"  
  
"My word, a seer that can't even see how he himself has changed!! HAHAHA! My boy, welcome to the ranks of the undead! The eternally boring! The savoir faire of the night!"  
  
"Seer?" The boy stared at him, confused.  
  
"Never mind that, what I'm trying to say is.you are a vampire. And as such you drink blood and all that rot. Sun's not so good for your complexion. Holy shit stings like hell. A stake in the heart is a bitch. Trust me on that one. Am I getting the ground rules through to you?"  
  
Zane blinked at him, silent for a few moments. Then he couldn't help but laugh. The laughter stuttered out, withdrawn with hints of doubt. He remembered he had killed a man up in the alley. He remembered how he had looked at Robert and saw something more than his best friend. He remembered the smell of the blood and the yearning. The blood on his hands he remembered. The crazy old bum stared at him as if he had just interrupted a very important lecture. The man stood silent, the shadows of his face darkening.  
  
Suddenly, Bartholomi shot forward and grabbed Zane by the neck. He crunched his body into the back wall hard enough to leave cracks. He let the mask of essence he wore fall to reveal his true face, the countenance of Clan Nosferatu. "Oh, I assure you. Vampires are very real." Zane shrank back in horror at the sight of his hideous face. It was a semblance of a human being, the skin pulled tight against the skull, revealing the etches of his cheekbones. Black lips pulled back against a mouth full of pointed teeth topped with two prominent canines. His milky bloodshot eyes bore into his face. Pointed ears curved against his bald head. The pallid skin of a corpse hung on him like an old decoration.  
  
"I suggest you pay attention. Class has begun."  
  
* * *  
  
Hours passed him by once again. The monstrous Bartholomi had finally left him in peace. For hours he had prattled on and on about the..Cama..Camarilla? And the clans. And Caine. All of it ran together like forgotten lore. He had flashbacks to Sunday school, about a brother who killed his sibling, over a sacrifice? God and him hadn't talked in a long while. Zane had watched in frozen horror as the monster paced back and forth in front of him, babbling his nonsense. Now he was left in darkness. No amount of yelling and screaming saved him from the claustrophobia of the room. He sat curled up in one corner, where his eyes caught the chalice and the remains of its spilled contents. He remembered earlier he had drank it down without a thought, but now he stared at it.  
  
"Oh, god." He whispered to himself. It was blood. He had killed a man, and this was no dream. It was all terrifyingly real. How?? How?? HOW?? WHY??? His mind tore itself apart over the realization. He rocked back and forth like a little child. It had to be a dream, but it wasn't goddammit! The shadows had nothing to say in return. More time passed, but Zane couldn't tell if it was the same moment as before. It was the same cement wall, the same cement bricks, the same cup, the same darkness, and the same light!!! He got out of the corner and ran his hands along the bricks..feeling for anything, yet finding nothing!  
  
"Dammit!!" His curse echoed around him, repeating in his ears, mocking him! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!! Dammit!! He screamed in frustration and rammed the wall as hard as he could, almost disjointing his shoulder. He howled like an animal as his fists ripped into the brick, actually cracking it. He tore and clawed at the wall with pure rage and frustration. Finally he was spent and he fell back to the cold floor. He looked down at his hands and gasped in shock. His knuckles were white with tension and the tips of his fingernails were elongated into bluish claws, like the nails of a dead man. He squeezed his hands and a minute later he looked at them again. They were normal looking, which made him wonder if it had been a hallucination. Zane closed his eyes. When he opened them, Bartholomi's head obscured his vision. In his hand, something metallic glinted and Zane tensed.  
  
You ever seen the ending to Braveheart? A moment in the back of his mind reverberated into the present.  
  
Zane scrambled away desperately, until the wall pressed against his back. "Did you do this to me??" He screamed at the monster, who again wore the face of a man. Bartholomi looked at the sword and then back at Zane.  
  
"Twasn't me, boy. If you had my Embrace, you'd be picking food out of your arse and shitting out of your underarm. You were so fortunate as to not taste of our Curse. By the looks of it, it was a Gangrel that sucked you dry, ignorant wretches. No matter." He took a step towards Zane.  
  
"Stay away from me, you sick fuck!!!" Zane shouted and scooted along the wall. His foot kicked aside the overturned chalice and it tinkled across the floor past The Furie.  
  
"My heart is broken! You still don't trust me?" Bartholomi sheathed the sword and pounced on Zane, grabbing his left arm and stretching it out forcefully. Through grunts he sarcastically intoned, "I'm..just trying ..to help you learn some survival lessons!" He forced Zane's arm backwards, almost breaking it, swung the sword out and sliced his bicep it two, leaving his arm hanging by a scrap of flesh and bone. Zane collapsed to the ground, cradling his arm. He cringed, his mouth convulsing in shock. He fell over and screamed as Bartholomi complacently wiped a drop of blood off of the blade and tasted it.  
  
"Hmmm.like..1742 Brandy!" He strolled calmly around to Zane's other side, carefully avoiding his writhing body. His screams reached the same tune as his favorite Tarentella. Bartholomi hummed the tune aloud. He then bent over Zane and patted his arm. "I think you'll need this." He smiled and tilted his head to the side. Zane frantically pulled away, leaving a trail of blood across the floor.  
  
"Now pay attention or you will have another long enforced nap." He lifted the sword to his own arm and sliced a path down his inner forearm, black blood trailing from the wound. He didn't even flinch. He lifted up the gaping wound for Zane to see. "Now.to heal, we call upon the powers of our blood. Feel the currents in yourself. Use that determination to live to manipulate your own flesh. Feel the tendons and the muscle and the skin. You can rework them, make them whole again."  
  
Zane gasped for air he didn't need. The pain was excruciating. He wanted it to stop. He clenched and focused his mind. Make the pain stop!! Make it better!! Heal!! Make it stop!!! He closed his eyes and willed it, begged it to stop. The flesh of his arm re-knitted itself, the separated bone straightened and rejoined itself. The skin closed over leaving a long cut.  
  
"Very good! Now remember." Bartholomi raised his forearm to his mouth and licked his own wound. When he was done, the wound was gone. ".Never waste a drop. Blood is as rare as diamonds these days." He smiled at the irony of that remark.  
  
Zane glared at him hatefully, then begrudgingly followed his example. He put his mouth to his arm as best he could, and licked what he could reach with his tongue, which was an amusing spectacle to watch for Bartholomi. Zane craned his neck as far as he could to reach the cut. Where his tongue touched it, the wound healed. Sweat poured from his brow, dripping down his chest and arms to mix with the blood that had spattered across his bare torso.  
  
"My God, you're pale. My sewer eyes can only take so much." Bartholomi threw him a ragged old shirt. "Marco says you can borrow this. He won't be needing it any longer." Zane sat exhausted. Slowly he grabbed the shirt and put it on. For some reason, he was cold. Chills ran up and down his back. He held his healed arm like a newborn. He could feel it again, that yearning rising up inside of him.  
  
"You passed your first lesson with flying colors, my boy!!" Bartholomi beamed with pride. "On the morrow, your next lesson shall be the Beast. A Beast doth coil within thy breast, young one." He repeated the very same words his Sire, Sophia had told him when he had gone through the very same lesson. He smiled again, a habit leftover from years of practice, "But I'm sure you already knew that, heheh." He disappeared again into the shadows of his lair, leaving Zane to stare again at the same darkness, the same bricks, the same wall, and the same light.  
  
* * * 


End file.
